


baby, you'll be saving mine

by infinitelymint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Headcanon, M/M, Need, charity game, football!Louis, harry calls louis after his charity match, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, lourry, one direction - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelymint/pseuds/infinitelymint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is nothing if not self-deprecating, and having known him three years Harry still cannot understand it. Because Louis is amazing, Louis is magnificent, Louis is beautiful and so, so unbelievably talented. Louis shines so bright, loves so fully and cares so much, and Harry quite honestly thinks that Louis is the most amazing person ever to walk this earth</p><p>Or Louis and Harry’s phone call after Louis’ celebrity charity match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, you'll be saving mine

”Lou,” Harry breathes the minute he hears the other boy picking up his phone. He’s been calling him persistently for the last half an hour and each time it has gone to voicemail, until finally, finally Louis has picked up his phone.

“Harry.” Louis voice on the other end is soft and vulnerable, and Harry’s heart positively aches with how much he wishes he was next to Louis, how much he wishes he could envelope the older boys with Harry’s own too long limps and cuddle him close. Aches with how much he just loves, loves, loves and miss, miss, misses him. 

“Are you okay?” Harry can’t help but cringe as the words leaves his mouth, knows that it isn’t what Louis wants to be asked, knows that Louis is beating himself up over something that he absolutely should not beat himself up over, and the last thing Louis wants is for Harry to acknowledge that it even happened. He is selfish, though, because he needs to know that Louis is okay, and, also, he knows that even though Louis want nothing more than to forget the whole thing and never speak about it out loud, they need to talk about it. Because Louis is nothing if not self-deprecating, and having known him three years Harry still cannot understand it. Because Louis is amazing, Louis is magnificent, Louis is beautiful and so, so unbelievably talented. Louis shines so bright, loves so fully and cares so much, and Harry quite honestly thinks that Louis is the most amazing person ever to walk this earth (or any other, for that matter, if others exists. Harry doesn’t know, and he supposes it doesn’t matter, it wouldn’t change a thing). 

On the other end, Louis sighs. “I’m okay, Haz.” He says, and he sounds so defeated that Harry almost cries right then and there. Louis should never sound like that. Ever.

“You were brilliant, love.” He says instead, and it isn’t surprising when he hears Louis’ disbelieving, bitter laughter on the other end, but he winces all the same. “You were! You played so well and, fuck, Lou, you looked so fucking good. So handsome. So hot. You are the most bloody beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Harry insists, his words dripping with finality. He can almost hear Louis shaking his head on the other side of the earth.

“I fucked up, Harry.” He says eventually, ignoring Harry’s praise. His voice is defeated, void of its usual animation and volume. “Shit, fuck, fuck.” He swears, and his voice breaks a little at the last word. His breathing hitches on the other end, and Harry thinks, as fat tears make their way down his cheeks, that maybe they cracked and gave into the tears at exactly the same moment.

Harry hates seeing – or in this case hearing (which, really, is so much worse, because right now he can’t even fucking touch Louis) – Louis cry. Louis who is always so strong, always keeping them all together, always putting everyone and their grandma before himself. Harry absolutely loathes it… And then at the same time there is this awful part of him that can’t help but be thankful that Louis doesn’t feel like he has to be strong in front of Harry. To be that one person who Louis lets himself break down in front of is both terrifying and exhilarating in a way that Harry chooses not to linger on. He doesn’t want Louis sad, doesn’t want him to cry, but it’s nice to know that he has every part of Louis – the good and the bad – just like Louis has every part of him. 

“Babe…” Harry says softly, knowing that the tears are making his voice thick and knowing that Louis can hear it, but it’s okay. It’s Louis on the other line and that makes it okay.

Louis takes a couple of deep breathes and continues. “It was a fucking charity match, and, god, I was just so excited, you know?” Harry nods, even though Louis can’t see him, because he knows, and he knows that Louis knows that he knows because they’ve talked about all of Louis’ matches so many times, and Harry is so, so proud. “And fuck, it didn’t even matter that people were booing, not then, I mean they booed at a lot of us, and the girls – fuck, Haz, we have the best fans in the world! – they just cheered so much louder, drowning all the boos. And walking in with El, well, it’s not like it was a laugh and I would’ve given anything for it to be you, shit, I wish you’d been here, but…” He trails off, apparently lost in thought, forgotten where he was going with what he was saying. 

“I’m sorry, Lou,” Harry says, because he is. So, so sorry. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there. I’m so sorry that I’m not there now.”

“No, Haz, no. Christ, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I wish you were here, and I know, I know that you would be if you could. I know that you want to. I just miss you, and I hate this and I’m so, so done with all this crap.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “Me too.” They’re both silent for a few moments before Harry speaks again. “How’s your knee?”

“Fine. Hurts like hell, a bit of swelling but it should be fine in a couple of days. Fuck, I’m so embarrassed!”

“What? No. Lou, why?” Harry shakes his head and bites his lip, worried and sad and missing his boy so much.

“I just really wanted to prove that I could do it. That I’m more than just the worst singer in One Direction, or the least popular member. That maybe I got that fucking charity contract with Rovers because I’m a bit decent at football and not just because I’m fucking famous,” he spits the word with as much venom as Harry feels towards it. “I know I’m nowhere near pro-level, but I just wanted to show that I could do something half-well, and instead I cry on the pitch like a bloody baby after being tackled and throws up like a bloody amateur.”

“Beckham threw up on the pitch during the match against Ecuador in the 2006 World Cup.” Harry states, and, okay, maybe he did google that, but that’s not really the point. “Messi threw up on the pitch in March when Argentina played Bolivia.”

Louis actually laughs. It’s a poor imitation of his usual laugh, but Harry will take it. Harry will definitely take it.

“And Lou, fuck, you’re so, so hard on yourself. And you’re so wrong, you hear me? So, so, so wrong. There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how wrong you are. I love your voice, out of all the voices in the entire world I’d choose yours. If I could only listen to one voice forever, it’d be yours.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m the one who puts my lips on your dick.” Crude, but Harry can’t help but laugh, and smile, because he can hear Louis’ smile behind his words, knows that Louis has taken what Harry said and tucked it into his brain and into his heart, letting Harry’s words and his love and his sincerity wash over him and keep him warm.

“I’m not, Lou, I’m really, really not.” Harry says, his voice dripping with genuineness. “Though it is definitely a perk.” He pauses slightly, and basks in the sound of Louis’ chuckles. He swears, if someone could find a way to bottle Louis’ laugh and distribute it to the greater public it could cure wars and cancer and maybe even famine. “And you have no idea, Louis, no idea how much the fans love you. Twitter and tumblr is a fucking Louis fest right now. They are so proud of you, love, and so concerned.” He’s quiet for a moment and then adds, again, for good measure. “I’m so proud of you. You played brilliantly, Lou. And there are so many pictures of you in that soccer uniform looking like God’s gift to men, I don’t even know how to cope with it.” He does though, thinking that he’s so gonna have a good wank looking at those HQ’s tonight. If he can’t have Louis he’ll have to settle for the next best thing.

“I love you.” Louis says it quietly, seriously, no trace of laughter or joking. Harry hears the words often, they say it as often as they can, always there to reassure the other that nothing has changed, but it gets Harry every single time he hears them. Every time is like the first time all over again.

“I love you too.” It’s simple, and also probably the truest words Harry has ever spoken.

“So much I think sometimes I’ll just burst, Haz. It’s out of this world. I didn’t know you could love someone like this. With this kind of intensity. It’s… It’s- fuck, love, I just love you so, so much.”

Harry feels his heart clench and he absolutely cannot even be in his own body, so overwhelmed by everything he is feeling. “Fuck, Lou. Christ, I love you. I love you. I miss you. So much. So much. I need you.” He is gasping and clutching the phone tightly in his hands, his knuckles long since gone white. He is desperate, and, seriously, when did their conversation turn into this, this desperation, this need? 

“Babe-” Louis’ voice is just as desperate as his and Harry is interrupting him before even having made a conscious descision to do so.

“I’m coming home.”

He hears Louis’ sharp intake of breathe. Harry isn’t supposed to return for another 5 days. “What?”

“I’m coming home. I’m on the first plane I can get on, shit Lou, I don’t care what they say. I’m coming home. I miss you and I love you and I need you. I’m coming home.”

“Okay.” Louis’ voice is soft. “Okay, yes, of course. Come home, love. I can’t wait. I miss you too.”

A smile stretches across Harry’s face – a big true smile, dimples and happiness and rainbows and everything. “Yes. I’ll book the tickets and tell management and Cal and I’ll be home before you know it.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before he hears Louis’ voice again. “After your game, love.”

Confused, Harry protests. “What? No! Louis, now, I’m coming now.”

“It’ll only be a few hours more, Haz, and you’ve wanted to attend a Packers game for ages. Go to the game with Cal, have fun and get on the first plane back to me afterwards. I’ll be waiting at home.”

“I-“ Harry pauses, because of course Louis is right. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” And there is nothing but sincerity in Louis’ voice. Harry would argue more, argue from here to infinity, but there would be no point. In any case, he probably wouldn’t be able to get a flight until after the game at any rate. It’s okay.

“And you are okay?” He asks again, just because he really, really needs the reassurance before hanging up.

Louis’ smile is evident in his answer: “I’m perfect.” Yes, Harry thinks, you really, really are. Later, when he’s home again, he’ll tell Louis so in person.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was born and written on september 8th, the day of Louis charity football match, partially based on the many reactions I read. This was originally posted on my tumblr, also conviniently called infinitelymint (I'd link you if I could figure out how, also please, please drop by and say hi - that would make my day!)  
> It’s unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are mine. I also own nothing One Direction related, and this is just a figment of my imagination.


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